You would have been 71

May 28, 2020

Carol Leigh

You would have turned 71 today

If only you were still here

I never had to calculate your age, as I would just add 10 years to my own age

At 61, I have already lived so many years longer than you

While I came to accept your death, I simultaneously could never quite grasp the it of it all

You were so full of life

Always my big sister

You had such amazing perspectives 

Not only did you know the histories of all religions, but you celebrated them all

Not one to be knocked down, no matter what curve balls life dealt you, you always looked at what laid ahead as an adventure 

I can hear you saying

It's not what I would have chosen, but it's where I am

I might as well enjoy it

You taught me this so well

You equipped me well

To face the world without you

I am not often lonely, but sometimes when I think of you, I feel lonely

I miss you so much

You taught me to embrace life

You taught me to make the best of any situation 

You taught me that I am strong enough to survive anything

Even when it seems I can't imagine surviving life without being able to talk things out with you

Oh, our grand telephone marathons, how we would sometimes go on for hours

Long enough that we needed pee breaks

Today I am thinking about how I would meet you

Every other Friday night

Downtown 

At the Bay

We'd dine in the Bay's glorious rooftop buffet

Where one could sit for hours

We loved meeting here because it was next to the furniture department 

They had all these living scenes set up

Living rooms you could step into

Where you could imagine your life

You could sit back in an easy chair

Or perch on an ottoman

And imagine living in the space

We met there because either of could arrive first

And amuse oneself for hours, til the other arrived

I was so young and green

And you gave me big sisterly advice

I knew how to live as a young woman in the big city

Because of you

There wasn't a problem you couldn't solve

Or help me solve

And on the way we'd examine all the possibilities of what could come next

And the opportunity in each

I never felt daunted by life

Except

Perhaps

Weekend mornings when I was living in the West End

And would go out for coffee

And think, no

This doesn't seem right

I should be with Carol right now

But you were gone

Once or twice every weekend I would see you

At your hospice

Sometimes picking you up to take you for a drive

Oh, how you loved those drives!

You who had lost your ability to explore 

Could once again travel the streets

Coast through Stanley Park

Enjoying sun snd rain

Fresh air and memories

And we would talk, and talk, and talk

I was at a total loss when you were gone

I would go out for coffee

But not quite relax

It was quite a shock, to be there, alone

Without you

Without you to visit

Without you to talk to 

Without you

In this place that you encouraged me to move to

How would I enjoy it

Without you to share it with?

An existential moment

A moment of reckoning

Many moments

But slowly

Alas

I had the strength to carry on without you

Even though a part of me broke inside

I had those lessons

It's not the life I would have chosen

This living without you

But I did

I am 

I know there is a lot I have pushed

Down and away

But never did I look at bleakness ahead

I saw opportunity and possibilities ahead

I could turn my energy to embracing where I was at the moment

Counting my blessings 

Digging deep

And, eventually, living again seemed normal

I stopped feeling at a loss

Because I'd much rather visit you

Than have coffee by myself

I was ok

I am ok

So many memories float through my mind this morning 

My heart

My soul

I miss you terribly big sister

But you are always here with me

I feel your presence often

And I feel your lessons always

Love you forever Carol Leigh

Is there a name for this?

I had one of those moments today, when I was updating my LinkedIn profile, and up pops a face in the jumble of a feed of 'what are your connections doing now' stuff. And it was my friend Floyd, who sadly passed away a few years ago of sickle-cell anaemia. He was a former colleague, an brilliant artist and an incredible shining light.

This type of thing always gives me pause.

I remember the first time I came across a friend's name in my email contacts who was gone. Space opened up. Time stood still. What do I do? Delete him? Hell no. Ken was more of an acquaintance than a close friend, but a friend nonetheless. He'd survived AIDS for many years, but it finally took him. And there was no way I was going to click 'delete'.

Of course I'd lost people before, but before email.

I've had a similar experience since, more than once, when cleaning out email, and I've come across an email from someone now deceased. Whoa. Full stop. I can't help but pause. And reflect. Usually with a breath or two, I can honour their memory, and move on.

Definitely not so easy if they committed suicide, however, as I am touched by the tragedy all over again. Remembering both Leah and Jodi on that one.

On the flipside today, as I found myself wanting to look at Floyd's art, his website is gone and his domain is for sale... they very thing that might be tangible in all this has vanished. So strange.

And it's often made me reflect on this phenomena, where the dead spontaneously appear in our technology-powered lives. I wonder if it's been studied, and if it has a name.

Floyd Sandiford
aka artist Floyd Sinclair
RIP buddy

Anyways, I believe that finding Floyd's smiling face looking right at me was no coincidence, and I've spent much of the day thinking about him. I have no doubt he is very busy right now, giving comfort to some, and encouraging to others to fight for their lives. I'm not just remembering him, but I can actually hear his voice and how he would pronounce my name when he'd say, "Hey, Roberta, how's it going?" And its impossible for me to look into those eyes without tearing up. I am so lucky to have been touched by this beautiful soul in my life, and he inspires me, especially at a time when one needs inspiration.

I did manage to find a few pictures of Floyd's art though, a few of which I have posted below. I've posted more in my RIP Floyd post in 2018. 

COVID Diary 3

I've been reflecting on what I do and don't like about keeping a diary through this.

I have mixed feelings.

I thought at first that it might be interesting to record the experience of a solo who is pretty content overall. I wasn't having trouble isolating.

By recording my experiences, it's both helped and made things harder.

Helped in that it has made me more aware of what I am feeling, I am noticing nuances that might have slipped by me before. And I'm definitely being present.

Made things harder in that by being more present, I am not distancing from my feelings. It is pretty easy for me to get into a zone, and not really examine what is going on all around me, to let it wash over me, and just be. This is forcing me to notice, and by doing so, stuff is coming up more. I am more aware, but I'm also having to process more. That's not a bad thing, but it's a harder thing.

In the end, it is better to be present and process as I go, but I miss the 'luxury' of being able to get into a zone for days at a a time, largely untouched by outside factors. I've also had something personal open up my heart a bit, and that is naturally making my emotions closer to the surface.

Yesterday this manifested in me feeling terribly sad... hardly surprising considering the number of crisis and trauma floating in the ether (pandemic, Nova Scotia shootings, the downed Forces helicopter), coupled with my awareness of friends who are experiencing loss. What got me was hearing the emotions of a journalist after speaking to the mother of one of those lost in the helicopter crash. Not that I am stoic, but I usually like to know the stories; it feels like a way to honour those who have been scarred or who have left us. But I hit a limit yesterday, and it stuck right there in my throat. As I was feeling this, and doodling, I found a tragic face making itself visible on the page, a crying eye, and bringing it out brought everything to the surface.

I am fortunate in that I have skills learned from many years in therapy that I can turn to when I get emotional or stuck. I wasn't yet at the stage of being overwhelmed, let alone panicked, but I have a deep knowledge that even if it gets that bad, I can cope with it. I can process it, I can work it out. This gives me a lot of strength when the chips are down.

The time I learned this was upon my arrival in Athens in 2009, and I had a big dose of culture shock. I felt traumatized and it went very deep. It wasn't so much Athens itself, but I was vulnerable, and something tilted, and I was not doing well. It took me a couple of days to work through it, I think, but I was able to figure out what was going on, and dug deep to find myself, rescue me, and get grounded again. I write about that a bit in my blog (Arrival in Athens and Chocolate, worry beads and a Greek rainstorm), and although I did not reveal a lot, I remember what a mess I was. That experience has taught me how resilient I really am. And the knowledge of that has helped me a few times in recent years, when I hit a wall. In the present, I wasn't there (yet), was just feeling emotional, but I was reminded of this, and it gave me comfort.

In the end yesterday, I worked it through a bit, then mostly distracted myself for the day (with all news off), and gave myself time.

Today, I feel much better.... but it's also what inspired me to think about how documenting at this time is helping me, and not helping.

Not helping? No, it's not that. It can never be a bad thing to be present and to deal with one's stuff, but it IS harder.

Harder isn't a bad thing.

I think I'd rather have it be harder, and have to work it through, than not feel anything at all, or feel oblivious.

It's all good, it's all good....

Review: The Day That Went Missing

The Day That Went Missing by Richard Beard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

How a moment changed everything...
Poignant story of a little boy who drowned in the UK, told by the brother who was with him, and only just saved himself. But oddly little was said following the incident, the family went on with their lives, even finishing their summer vacation, barely speaking about what happened. As if pretending nothing happened. Rarely mentioning the absent family member caused grieving to be stunted. As an adult, the surviving brother sets out to find out what happened. Compelling and surprising - and very interesting.

View all my reviews

Review: Resilience - Navigating Life, Loss, and the Road to Success

Resilience: Navigating Life, Loss, and the Road to Success by Lisa Lisson
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book was not what I expected, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I am drawn to stories of people recovering from tragedies, but a mom with kids dealing with the 'loss' of her husband isn't one that I relate to. I suppose it was the parallel story of Lisa's role as a senior executive in Canada that intrigued me. The third aspect of the book ~ Lisa's descriptions of her leadership style and business philosophy ~ was unexpected and, at times, seemed out of place. Yet it makes sense, if she is writing a book about her journey, that they would be included. Looking back at the title, it does seem to fit. I suppose the chosen audio clip for the preview was so laser focused on the tragedy of her husband's heart attack, that I wasn't expecting the rest. But... still a good read. I wasn't thrilled with the narration; at times the narrator spoke so fast I actually checked to make sure I hadn't inadvertently selected 2x speed.

View all my reviews

Reflections on the passing of Floyd (RIP)

I find myself trying to get a little perspective today. It has been a roller coaster of emotion these past few days. Tremendous grief and shock to learn if Floyd's passing. How is it that the warmest, kindest, most positive man with the BIGGEST HEART has a heart attack? And how is it possible that this vibrant, strong and vivacious man relied on life support to stay alive? It is hard to imagine him just going quietly when his family made thr difficult decision to take him off life support... How did that huge, generous heart cease to pulse? He touched sooooo many people. Hearts were breaking everywhere.

The only way I can make sense of it is to believe that Floyd was put on this earth to shine his bright smile, spirit and optimism to everyone he met, so that they would know it is possible to live like he modelled.

In between episodes of weeping, I have been inspired in so many ways.

Floyd passed on my birthday eve, at the end of a day when I had started feeling blue and moping about turning 59. Well, that didn't last long. I am devastated that someone as young and full of life as Floyd could be gone so fast. It's true, the good do die young.

My perspective flipped to being thrilled to turn 59. Holy shit, look how far I made it!!

It doesn't feel surface, it feels deep. Rather than weaken me and discourage me, I feel strengthened, with a new resolve.

Today I'm tired, looking around for a little of that passion, but its not so far away...

RIP Floyd ~ I feel so fortunate that you touched my life. I love you buddy.

UPDATE (May 2020): I recently discovered that Floyd's website is no longer active. As the archives of his works are slowly disappearing, I scoured the net to find what I could, which I have posted below.

Also:
http://www.floydsinclair.ca/ - Floyd's art
Black Vancouverites respond to question 'Where are you from?'
Floyd Sinclair exhibit at Gallery 1515

PS. My later blog post about sickle-cell anaemia

Seeking clarity

I am seeking clarity.

In a sense, nothing new in that. But I really am.

So many balls in the air, so many mixed emotions and issues, I have been living in the blur. But no more. I need to break things down. Put each thing in it's own tidy little corner. Look at them individually. I need to look at them in relationship to each other too, of course, but first, I need to divide and conquer.

I was inspired yesterday by someone I respect tremendously, posting the reality of their life in the last year. It was an 'oh wow' moment. We have no idea what people are going through.

What struck me most was how brutally honestly he described what depression does to you, and the dance between depression and grief.

I experience both. It's only recently that I came to realize that depression is present in my life again. I am well aware that grief is something I am living with, though I was 'surprised' to realize that on New Year's Eve it had only been 3 years since I lost my mom. So recent. Yet it feels like I've been living with it so long.

What struck me yesterday, after reading his post, was that I hadn't been trying to separate them out at all. I'd just been living in an overwhelmed state, and doing my best to get through it.

Or not doing my best.

But I was doing what I could.

Now, a bit of clarity, a sliver of light bringing things into focus, just a bit.

It's not just depression and grief, of course, why would things be that simple? It the continual adjustment to no longer living alone, being overwhelmed at work, losing my second source of income, my own personal issues intruding on my interactions with others, to the point of acting out (badly) and living with the fallout. Through in being beyond broke, and falling back into debt, and feeling grounded (aren't I supposed to be travelling the globe, without a care in the world?). It's noticing that I haven't really landed "here", not putting down roots, even not building relationships, as I haven't acknowledged myself, where I am. It's living in a sea of boxes, as I come up on 2 years in my apartment. It's making a stupid financial mistake and recovering from it by the skin of my teeth (try paying your bills from your bank account after your rent has come out... only to realize that it hadn't come out yet, and scrambling down to the $10 to cover the shortfall in the moment... now fixed, but geez, I've never done something like that).

I have signs all around me that I'm a mess. But I've been trudging through it, what, thinking it would change?

So, the post I read just gave me a fresh perspective on the difference between depression and grief, how they get intertwined, and what we need to do to slay each dragon. Hard go slay two dragons at once, unless you're superman, or superwoman... and heck, they are my dragons. I'd rather understand than slay. They calm down and lose their power when you look in their eyes, question them, and listen, and repeat.

I have had a few other themes relating to clarity going on this past week, as well as sources of inspiration to help shift my focus.

More to come...

Meaningless? No.

Mom and B in the Christmas spirit

People around me think that because I don't "celebrate" Christmas that it is meaningless to me. Not so. How could it be?

Growing up, like most kids, I loved Christmas. No religious context, but trees, gifts, stockings (I can still picture mine exactly), turkey, snow, skating in the backyard, and in later years, the arrival home of siblings to visit. At this moment, I am remembering Carol surprising us by coming home unannounced from Montreal, and me not recognizing her (fancy makeup, wig, white go-go boots...).

As a young adult, Christmas remained one of highlights of my year. Tree in my apartment. Xmas music. Walking to enjoy the lights. And I always came (went?) home, an important family time. 

Aside of the disastrous boyfriend breakup year, in which I agreed to hide my pain, there weren't many low points. The otherwise very nice bf I had been living with for a couple of years confessed that he had fallen in love with a co-worker, but could I please say nothing, as he didn't want my parents to think ill of him over the holidays. We still didn't know what we were going to do, so I naively agreed (I was, what, 22? 23? so young...). I left for the holidays while he spent a "trial" weekend with her (!). When he arrived at my parents house a few days later he told me, yup, that was it, they were in love, and I would need to move out. I can still see a picture of me, trying to put on a brave face, saying nothing, while my heart was breaking. In the end, they got married, had kids, and I moved on to eventually figure out who I was (and it wasn't the cookie baking, pork chop making homemaker I had been playing at). 

In the years that followed, perhaps in part to compensate, I became obsessive about Christmas, to the amusement (?) of my friends and co-workers, and to the point of becoming intolerable to my family. Totally overboard. If anyone who knew me then could see me now, they probably wouldn't believe it. 

By the time I faced issues that had been haunting me, and I went into therapy, the only way I could cope, and find my way through the mess, was to cut myself off from my family. No more trips home. I can't even remember when I stopped gift-giving and receiving. Maybe it was that first year, or later, but I found my way free by announcing to family that I was no longer "doing" Christmas, don't send me gifts, and I would give money to charity . Confused and baffled everyone, but I was in survival mode. I've kept that charity Christmas ritual to this day though. 

To say Christmas was a dark period for me would be an understatement. I hated the whole season, and Christmas Day was particularly painful. It was like I broke my own heart, but it was the only way I could break free, get in touch with issues, find my way through them, and begin to heal. In the process, I hurt family members who had nothing to do with the underlying issues at play. It's only recently that I've been acknowledging that.

That first Christmas on my own, I remember walking around the Stanley Park seawall ~ I still thought I should do something to mark the day ~ and being so sad and alone, walking amongst families at their happiest time of the year. Oops. That didn't become a ritual. 

I hated Christmas so much, and all the pain it evoked in me, that I would start to get tense by the time fall came around. Instead of enjoying autumn, I could feel the gloom setting in, dreading the next 4 months. Black. Dark. Painful. Unavoidable. Holding on until the whole damn season was over. Boxing Day was like freedom day for me, I'd made it through another year, and wouldn't feel the world pressing in on me. I could breathe.

My coping mechanisms changed over the years, for the most part settling on Hawaii as a better place to be, though I still had to cope with trees, carols and grocery stores that closed. The sun helped me too, as I eventually discovered I had S.A.D. and benefitted from the dose of sun. 

I can't remember when Christmas stopping being painful, or at least tolerable. But this non-celebration of the season just became the fabric of my life. I still didn't like trees, carols, lights and Merry Christmas wishes, but I tolerated them. At this point I think I fooled myself into thinking that Christmas was meaningless to me, but of course that wasn't so. 

The dynamic began to shift for me when Patti came to Greece in 2009 and we spent he month together, in Athens and Rhodes. Very gently, things started to become ok, such as the touches of Christmas that surrounded us. The lights were kind of pretty, and I enjoyed learning about how the local in Greece celebrated. And as it was still a special time for my sister, I experimented with breaking my own rules, suggesting that a small gift or two would be ok, and did we have any socks we could put to use? In the end, we sang, drank ouzo, picked up a few Greek trinkets, and I made Christmas dinner (!), though it was pasta. Nothing bad happened, and my heart started to melt a little. Imagine that. 

The timing was fortuitous, as it was in 2010 that I found myself living with mom, and creating Christmas for her. She didn't really "do" Christmas anymore, at least no tree, but a kind neighbour came every year to put up lights on the house for her. I learned her rituals, of inviting him and  his children in for hot chocolate when the lights were hung. This same family shovelled her snow and took the lights down again, so more hot chocolate. And so it came that I was actively involved the fabric of her life, including how she marked all the seasons.

At this point, mom's dementia meant she really didn't remember those difficult years (a blessing), so she took in the love and joy of her family, and enjoyed the little things. Her favourites were Christmas music (oh, how she loved music!), and all the lights. Mostly my sister made the season, and I played along, and it became easy to just be in the moment, and enjoy it all with her, and enjoy her enjoyment. Suddenly, it wasn't about me anymore, and I found myself listening to Christmas carols and enjoying the lights. I'd spent so many years pushing Christmas away, that I was surprised to find I didn't hate it anymore. Imagine that!

Eventually, as she slipped further away, she retained a childlike delight in carols, bells, lights and treats. Mom was so sweet in her later years, it was a joy to sing with her. Oh, what pangs of sadness it brings me in this moment to remember... I miss her so much. I cry. And I am reminded how much grieving I still have to do.

But, for today, I embrace mom's joy and love. I sing the way we would greet each on Christmas mornings, the same as we always had, the love stringing together the moments that matter. 

Today, I reflect, try to enjoy memories that don't make me cry, or not too much, appreciate my blessings, and avail myself of a few treats. I feel joy for those with their families, and compassion for those who are without. I am happy for the kids who must be delighted to ind snow when they awoke. 

I am especially appreciative of the love of both my brother and sister. There are just three of us now, and I cherish them. My brother still doesn't know what to make of my solitude at this time of year, as he's the opposite, but he puts up with his Scroogy sister and we'll connect at some point. There are times even I am tired of my aloofness, and how it must come off to my extended family, but this is me at the moment.

It's at times like this, when my sister is home with her daughter, that I get a bit of time to reflect and relax. And, for today, aside of a little writing to start my day, no heavy thinking. Just nuggets of happy memories, as I listen to Christmas music on CBC, and perhaps the crackle of the Shaw fireplace, putter in my home, eat a few treats, and pause. Maybe a Christmas movie or two, some drawing, a toast or two, a snooze or two, and just being. 

Merry Christmas to you.

Sugar cookies

Today it caught me off guard.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been enjoying many-a-treat from colleagues and clients. No problem. And I've weathered the Christmas season without grief. Maybe a bit of sadness, missing mom, but mostly relaxing with fond memories. Even that was a huge shift for me.

So I wasn't expecting anything.

Then, today, with a bite of a snowflake cookie (very tasty) from a colleague, I had this sudden flash of mom's sugar cookie and shortbread. It took my breath away. And brought tears to my eyes.

Had to go in the back for a little cry.

Mom had all these little metal (aluminum?) cookie cutters, rolling around in a drawer, and this time of year, the same shapes would appear in cookie form, dotted with little red and green sprinkles: the star, the gingerbread man, the snowman, the Santa... Most of my mom memories are recent ones, but this is one from long ago, the taste of a cookie evoking childhood slivers of memory.

The struggle is still there. The pull between missing mom, and moving n. The dance between terrible grief and an accepting sadness shored up by love. The hole in my heart versus my heart bursting with love and appreciation for mom. How can I be all these things at once? How can I be of two hearts?

Overall, I'm good. My energy is on the side of acceptance and joy at how lucky I have been, and how grateful I am for mom, especially those last few years together.

But still, grief lingers. Or wafts. In and out. Strong and at bay. Never really gone, but no longer dominating.

It is less than a week until the anniversary of mom's passing (New Year's Eve), so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

But I'd fooled myself by doing ok. I forgot about how grief pounces. How it just erupts, when are least expecting it.

Except I supposed I should have expected it. Because I do still miss her so...

Ah, life is a journey.

Back to my day as a travel agent. I have quotes to do! Mom would love that. 

Robins, hummingbirds and moving on...

The end is near. Today the last load of straggler boxes and random stuff will get moved over, thanks to a generous neighbor. That's not the only neighbor gesture today... two are coming to disconnect appliances and haul them into our dumpster bin, along with yard stuff (part of our sale criteria).  A late ah-ha was that although the house wull be orn down, we still need to clean it. So cleaner in the morning.
Anyways, thse are the surface things.
What's important are the special moments over the past few days:
My sister, brother and I hanging out Friday, sorting, laughing, storytelling, remembering and goofing around. At one point, the big coloured dots used to organize boxes ended up on our foreheads. After the joke was done, I noticed we still all wore them for an hour or two, each in our own way, holding ono the moment, cherishing the connection.
Just being in the house ~ really so cute ~ listening to the birds, enjoying the trees, feeling mom's energy.
Enjoying the back deck my brother built with cedar from his own sawmill up the coast, sharing memories of how much mom loved it. She and I sat there many nights, drinking hot chocolate under the stars...
My sister and I watching the wee hummingbird yesterday, sitting in her nest just outside oupr front door. So tiny, so precious, so hidden, so still, so miraculous, amazing.... We will leave a note for the new owners... hopefully they can keep the tree safe until they are done with the nest.

Singing to the robin that keeps visiting, like mom would when we were kids, "Robin, Robin red breast".., which she also sang to me (Robin aka Roberta). I kerp feeling mom's presence when rhe robin is around.
Ok, time to get out the door...

The me that is me

Today, in a stationary store, I recognized myself. I felt like the me I used to be. No, not going back in time, but feeling the essence of the me that is me, in the me of me today, or in the me of me that I will be tomorrow. Or next week. On the other side of this transition.

I recognized the way I move, the way I move through my day, going from a to b as the me who is me. I didn't know what I was missing, but that was it, is it. The me that is me. 

Today I opened a journal, looking for notes on something for the move, and I found my journa entry from the night mom passed away. Oh, up, up and away, sweet momma.

I also found my journal entry from just a few days prior, when Maui rallied and started eating, on the day I thought we would need to put him down. And we deferred it. He was cuddled in my lap, and I marveled. And I wrote about how Maui taught me to never give up. That he did.

I am not giving up on finding the me that is me again, even if I'm not the same me anymore. How could I be? I am all filled up with momma love and Maui love. And even now that they no longer sit here with me, they are a big part of the me that is me.

I put a picture of Maui in my new apartment yesterday, where he can watch over me.

I no longer just have hope that this will be over, i know it will, and I can see myself on the other side. I ferl myself. There.

The me that is me feels a bit of glee!

Lost in a loss of control

Holding on by a thread this morning.

So much pressure on me to get us moved from my mom's house, but everywhere I turn to do something I can't. Stuff that is still undecided. Stuff that is being re-decided. Stuff that needs something done to it first. The decisions aren't mine, but the burden is.

I've made things "easy" for myself by not having an attachment to stuff, but it also leaves without a voice, or a way to move things forward. Packing up a house with a fragile soul is no easy journey. I actually have no problem speaking up for myself, but in this circumstance, doing so works against me. But it is sooooooo draining. It sucks my energy.

I thought I'd been doing ok, but yesterday it got to me. My frustration spilled over at the rather-dense MacDonald's drive through guy this morning, my reaction to his stupidity (he couldn't figure out the difference between oatmeal/porridge and oatmeal cookies, hilarious if i wasn't being such a bitch).

A big eyeopener for me, as it's been years since I left carnage on the souls of the poor folk who came into contact with me when I had unresolved issues bubbling below the surface (pre-therapy days, oh how obvious it is in retrospect to see that something was wrong).

 I have to apologize to that MacDonald's guy next time I drive through.

And I have to have an outlet for my frustrations before I melt down. One wrong word from me here, and that would upset the applecart to the point of an applesauce catastrophe. Ha ha.

I was near tears when I arrived here this morning, but writing has done it's trick. I have perspective. I've gotten it out. Now I'll be able to cope without my emotions spilling over.

I may still be craving for this to be over, but it's ok. Somehow it's ok.

Perspective

Deep in the sorting, purging, packing process at my mom's house. Stuck in the garage and a musty old back room, surrounded by old papers, mystery boxes, useless crap... and important gems. It's a process, with lots of time to reflect and process a lifetime of memories, joys, losses, deep pain, sadness, and regrets. Putting things to rest, letting go, moving on. Interesting to find what saddens me anew, and what no longer has a hold on me.

 Back to the work, and the joys of flinging stuff into the huge bin in the driveway, each crash surprisingly satisfying.

Mislaid and found

just write, just write, just write...

As I go through stuff, packing up, I am finding things from my fairly recent past that I had forgotten about. Not important stuff, but articles of clothing I had bought along the way, put down, or tucked away, then promptly forgot about. I say recent, as in acquired since my trip to Europe (so in the last 7 years), but not within the last 3 years when I have been working at a regular gig where I need dress clothes. So, from sometime in the first 4 years I was back. So, to me, that's either when I first returned / came to Sidney, or when I was caregiving mom, or when mom first went into residential care. There are 2-3 years in there that are a total blur, when I became more and more overwhelmed, and I started dropping things, as I had less and less capacity. Stopped reading, stopped exercising, stopped pursuing my interests, stopped blogging, stopped writing, and eventually stopped drawing... stopped living, in many ways, just coping day to day. This was mostly during the most intense caregiving period, when I had nothing left, so to speak. Yesterday I found some tops that I must have purchased before that time, recognizable, but never worn, perhaps picked up at some point when I was out shopping (just now it occurs to me that maybe some are from my 2010 trip to New York?). I really can't connect with them, I don't know if I ever wore them, but I recognize them as mine. A couple weeks ago though, my sister found a bag containing a pair of pants I purchased shortly after mom went into care that I have absolutely no memory of. Brand new, still with tags on. It's weird that I don't remember, as I have needed black dress pants ever since, completely wearing out the couple pairs I picked up along the way. It's quite significant to have no memory of these. It's like my life was an absolute blur at that time. I'd make occasional attempts to carve out a bit of personal time for myself, and do an errand, or do something just for myself, but it wouldn't last, or it wouldn't stick. I was just as likely to park the car at the side of the road and weep. I remember doing this between respite periods - once even on the way to help mom settle into a respite stay, and calling the respite facility because I was incapable of handling the full process that day - or in the months after mom went into care, so sad and so torn up about what I'd had to do. I was so broken up by that. It brings tears to my eyes and causes my throat to catch, even just thinking about that time. I was so lost, and felt so alone, and felt soooo bad! I felt for mom so much. I couldn't even articulate what I needed for myself that was lost, all I knew is that I felt disconnected, listless, overwhelmed, burdened, and alone... while digging deep for the energy to be the one who was upbeat, the one who was managing the situation, to be up for mom, to be positive, to be encouraging, to be compassionate, to listen, to try and understand, to find ways to give her comfort when she swayed in her feelings. When she was sad, when she was mad, when she was disappointed, when she was unhappy, I felt it all, and I felt so bad. I knew I shouldn't feel guilty, but I did. I knew there wasn't another way, but that didn't make me feel any better. I was still feeling good about what I was doing, but I knew it wasn't good enough for anyone one else, so I was feeling good and bad, confident and guilty, relieved but forlorn, so disappointed in myself that I found I had a breaking point, and that it meant I couldn't do more, I felt like I let everyone down, I felt like I let mom down, I couldn't do enough, there is now way to do enough... all the while trying to put all that aside, to just be present with mom, to be her spot of joy, to connect with her, to be that tie to her life. I did well, and I didn't, sometime failing at it all. Thinking I was holding it together, then she'd tell me she wanted to run away, she didn't want to be there, why couldn't she come home, oh she went through a period when she was so mad, so frustrated, and I know she felt so hopeless, so without resources to change anything, all she wanted was the freedom to choose, and she didn't have it. I loved her so much when she struggled like this, I felt for her, I wanted to make her feel better, but of course, I couldn't. We could always break through it, both of us, to share our love, to know we were still connected, but it truly broke me heart.
I feel so much sadness and grief as I write this. I know I have a lot of pain and sadness from this time that I haven't worked out, and know I need to. I've partly been afraid to dip into it, but it's also the only way through. I know mom forgives me, and that her love never faltered, but I'm still so broken up by the experience. I've gotta process it, in order to heal.
So, is it any wonder I have no recollection of shopping for a pair of pants, then putting the bag in my cupboard? Hardly.

Grief swirls

Mom, cousin Heather, Carol Leigh

Grief swirls. Grief swirls in and out of my days. It comes and goes. I do ok, then something reminds me. This week it was the sad passing of a colleague's spouse, expected at some point I understand, after a long battle with cancer. My heart goes out to her. Then, there it is, my still incredible grief at the loss of my sister Carol. Fuck cancer. I still miss her so much, can't imagine my life without her in it, yet struck by how I've moved on, ache less... yet still. Yesterday I was reflective, yet this morning, as I write this, the tears come. I miss you sweet Carol Leigh.
Dozing this morning, there was a story on the radio about the level of care in residential care facilities in BC, and continuity of care from caregivers. In my half-awake state, my subconscious grabs at memories, attaches to mom, and I half-wake up thinking she is still alive, that I could go see her. There was this image of her, in her care facility, where they took such great care of her, and it seemed so real. It was real. But it's not. It's not today. I miss you my sweet mom.
So, grief swirls, in and out, weak and strong, hidden and omni-present...
I am so grateful that I have long understood that grief is a process, that we all experience it differently, not to judge it, just to be with it, process it, respect it, even embrace it. Resisting it just hurts more.

Reflections on this day

It would be easy to be sad today, but I am trying to lean on optimism, memories and hope to move me forward.

A year ago on Christmas Day, I visited my sweet mom in her care home. Oh, what joy she felt seeing me, and my niece! We sat having tea, eating treats, her opening a few gifts, but mostly singing and laughing at the antlers we took turns wearing. It was such a special moment that I hold close in my heart. The strength of her squeeze of my hands helped me feel our connection over the years, the bond strong and true. Gazing into her eyes, hugs, kisses, our foreheads touching, love, love love...

She caught us all by surprise when she passed away on New Year's Eve. Oh, mom! I miss you every day. It has been a very tough year, but your spirit and love are giving me the strength to move forward. I am looking forward to the days ahead, curled up in front of your hearth, remembering you, and celebrating your life in my own way. I am so appreciate of the recent years we spent together... what fun we had! You filled me up with love, and it's all still there. You aren't so far away when I pause like this.  Thank you for everything.

My thanks to all the nurses and health care workers who were so generous and kind to my mom, and are doing the same for others at this time.

Blog reinvention, again

From my windowsill in Berlin

I feel I have reinvented my blog so many times. Yet it is time, once again.

For the past 5 years, my blog has been off and on, while I changed the focus of my life: family and caregiving took centre stage. So many other things faded into the background, not just in what I blogged about, but in practically everything I did, thought and felt.

Now, as I am coping with two significant losses, I am starting to shift my focus again. Grief has its own timetable, of course, and who knows what lessons it still has in store for me, but action has always helped me deal with depression.

My most recent change in my work situation is a refreshing and well-suited to me, and I am so grateful for the opportunity.

It's funny, I might have thought upon my return from Europe that I might like a career in travel, and here I find myself working as a travel agent.

I never dreamed when I left Vancouver that I would not return, I am living in a small town that I am surprised to find actually suits me.

I also couldn't have imagined that my blog would go silent for long stretches, but that's life.

And here I am at a crossroads again. There are new paths to choose, A new me to discover.